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Hope You Guessed My Name
For All Nails #160: Hope You Guessed My Name by Mike Keating ---- :Samuel Adams Brotherhood compound :Outside Black Rock, New York, N.C., CNA :6 March 1975 :7:34 AM Harold Pickett stood about halfway between the house and the tool shed with a mug of hot tea in his hand. He was grateful for the tea; the weather was colder than he was used to. Mexico Central could get cold, but the winters here were colder than he'd ever imagined. It was a beautiful morning, though. The sun was bright, there were no clouds, and there were no other houses for a mile around. He understood that all chapters of the Brotherhood had a place like this, and some other organizations as well. A voice from behind him spoke up. "Enjoying the morning, Ed?" He turned around at the use of his cover name. John Hanson and one of his men were there. The second man was Alvin Bernard, one of the few black men in the Brotherhood. He had heard that Bernard's ancestors had fought in the Rebellion against the British. Alvin, like all the others here, had yet to put the past behind them. Neither had Pickett. One of these days I suppose John deserves to know my real name. I don't know his yet, though, Harold thought. "I could use a hand with some business, Ed. Care to hear a story while we're at it?" "Sure, John. What's going on?" "Not everybody's here for the story yet. Let's just say for now it's high time you knew who I really am. Al already knows me from before I changed it, but he doesn't know the other half. Al, I want you to go find Woody -- wake him up if you have to -- and bring him down to behind the garage. Ed and I will be waiting." Pickett and Hanson walked to the compound's garage, which was a three-loke one about fifteen feet from the house in the opposite direction of the shed. Not that it was enough. The Black Rock chapter had grown to almost 200 members since Allen had started funneling money to the army clubs. At any given time, there were likely to be 20 or 30 men here. Use of the garage was usually on a first-come first-served basis, with everyone else leaving their lokes on the lawn. "By the way, John, I've been meaning to tell you my real name, too. It's Pickett. Harold Pickett. Sorry for not mentioning it before." Hanson smiled. "I suppose it's a case of the fewer people who know, the less chance you'll be exposed. Which kind of relates to what's happening right now." The two of them were waiting about ten minutes, spending the free time talking about the Mercator crisis. Harold was just making a point when Alvin and another man arrived. Wood Ronson, Harold recalled. "Woody," began Hanson, "just the man we need to talk to." "Yeah? Do you need me for a mission, John?" asked Ronson. He was about thirty, with blond hair, a pale face, and a muscular body. He looked like he'd have been a great athlete. "Not quite. We're going to kill you," Hanson answered. "You've been leading us on, Woody. You aren't who you've been saying. Your name isn't Wood Ronson at all. It's Wyman Richards-Keith, and you're with the millies. Or maybe the CBI." Pickett managed to keep the surprise off his face as he watched Hanson and Bernard pull pistols from inside their warm coats. Alvin didn't seem surprised at all; either Hanson had told him already or he'd surmised from being told to bring his gun. Pickett had spoken with Ronson a few times. The man had seemed likable and dedicated to the cause. "No, you're wrong, John. I'm Woody Ronson, always was." Hanson shook his head. "Wyman Richards-Keith. Winfield Scott High School, Philadelphia, class of '64. Captain of the cricket team your last two years. Led them to the '63 and '64 provincial championships. Your photo is framed in the school trophy case. Looks just like you. Went to William and Mary on a cricket scholarship, majored in criminalism. FN1 You rode the bench most of your time there since the talent level was so much higher. Careless of your bosses to send someone undercover who used to be a public figure, even in another city." Pickett stood and watched all this with interest. Woody shook his own head now. "Boss, I don't know where you're getting your information, but--" Hanson cut him off. "You told us you were born and bred in Black Rock. Told me you went to Burgoyne High School. I had someone sneak in there and look through the files; you aren't in them." "All right, let's say you're right. How would you know? What would've tipped you off?" "I went to Winfield Scott in Philadelphia. Class of '46. I still keep informed of Philly events; I know you were a big hero at my old school. But I didn't go there under my current name. Back then I was called Brian Donaldson." Pickett found himself completely unprepared for this, and he had no chance to hide his surprise this time. Richards-Keith scoffed. "Impossible! He's in prison, and that wasn't even his real name. It was George something." "No, I am the real one. You may have noticed he has continued to deny that he is Donaldson. Because he isn't." As Hanson/Donaldson said this, Pickett recalled the vita reports of the man being captured: he had shaken his head and said over and over, "I am not Donaldson. I am not Donaldson." Hanson continued the story. "Six years ago, I was head of the Philadelphia chapter. I had to go to Black Rock on Brotherhood business. When I went to board the airmobile for the trip back, it was overbooked. I was furious and made a scene. It was inexcusable. But two blokes who'd made it onto the trip noticed my outburst. "What made things interesting was that my friends in Philly had some contacts with the Tree of Liberty Group, and one of them was a chauffeur in his day job. They thought it would be a nice gesture to welcome me back with a livery FN2 ride to a public Brotherhood rally that night. Some of the other Trees were along for the ride. Unlucky for me, the Trees in question had never worked with the Brotherhood and had no clue what I looked like." "So what happened?" asked Richards-Keith, now engrossed despite the fact that his life was in imminent danger. "When they got into Philly, the two buffoons from Black Rock saw the driver with a sign saying 'Donaldson.' They knew I hadn't made the flight and decided to pretend they were me. One said he was Donaldson, the other claimed to be called Murphy Dillon. The Trees were totally taken in until I called the loke's mobile phone to let them know of the delay. The livery was at the rally then, so they threw the bums out and drove off. They were both arrested, but so were the Trees. The one saying he was me was charged with some bombings and subversion I'd been involved in. I arranged for the Trees to cut a deal. They testified that he was me and got immunity. I changed my name and got away clean. And now they're not looking for me ... " Harold finished the sentence: " . . . because they think they already have you. They don't even know they should be looking for you. You're a genius, John, er, Brian." That CBI man in Boston asked me about John Hanson, Harold thought. They knew about Hanson; they just had no clue who he really was. "Thank you. The fool got a ten-year sentence, his friend was convicted of being his accomplice and got two years. John Hanson has no legal record; the millies have nothing useful on him. But I am so f--king mad, because now I have to change my name ALL OVER AGAIN! There's no telling what he's passed on!" Bernard spoke up now. "We could get it out of him, Boss." "No. Then we're no better than the Johnnies. FN3 And we'd never be sure he wasn't leaving something out." As he said the last word, Hanson fired his gun into the infiltrator's chest twice. "Al, I want you to get some men together and pack up everything in the shed. Leave a little explosive, put the body in the shed basement, and blow the place on a timer set for eight tonight. I want us all to be at the alternate compound by then. FN4 Wait. Was Woody ever there?" "No, Boss," said Alvin. "Good. Harold, let's you and me get to work on packing the place up. I want to search his room, too. Let everyone you see know that we're leaving. Oh, and tell them I'm giving away his stuff to whoever wants it. Anyone who's interested should be in the kitchen at noon. I have first claim on his records. He has some J. W. Zimmerman I like." FN5 Donaldson started to walk off, then turned around. "Do you go by Harold or Harry?" "Harold, usually. I was Harry as a kid, but I got teased when the others made it Hairy." "You might want to change your cover name, too. Anyone Woody may have told them about should." ---- Forward to FAN #161: The Lesson. Forward to 7 March 1975 (Harold Pickett): Ashes and Action. Return to For All Nails. Category:Pickett